Lose Control
by GuardianLadySkye
Summary: An indepth look into Tsuzuki's last day of life. Oneshot, character death, blood, and angst.


**An in-depth look at Tsuzuki's last day of life. Blood and angst ahead, so be warned! **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Yami no Matsuei or any of its wonderful, smexy characters. I only own a few volumes of the manga. I also don't own anything by Evanescence; I'm only borrowing their lyrics at the beginning of this fic. Also, many thanks to my beta for verifying my information! **

_Just once in my life_

_I think it'd be nice_

_To lose control just once..._

He stared out of the window, watching the life on the outside world roam free. The bandages around his wrist and right eye itched, but he ignored them. He did not have the strength or the will to scratch. Several small petals from the cherry blossom trees flitted past the window. Two robins sat on a tree branch, one's head in the other's chest. The faint sounds of their cheerful voices entered his ears.

_Happy_.

They're so happy.

He lifted his head ever so slightly off of the pillow to better view the couple. A small pack of butterflies fluttered by; a lazy blur of colors. One of the robins looked up abruptly at the passing fleet. One glazed amethyst watched intently, anticipating the bird's next move. His eye suddenly blurred as it lost its focus. He squeezed it shut for a moment, then opened it again.

The robins were gone.

His heart sank in his chest as he languidly averted his gaze to the ceiling.

_Wait,_ he thought abruptly. _What am I thinking? Only humans have hearts. I'm not human. I don't have a heart. _

The ceiling fell out of focus as he succumbed to the dark recesses of his mind.

---

He was walking through darkness. There was no light; only darkness.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice raspy and weak. Inexplicably, he felt that he had been here countless times before, but he could not understand how.

He took a step forward.

_Splash._

"Huh?"

Looking down, his stomach clenched when he discovered that he was stepping in a puddle of blood. It was small; only a little bigger than his foot. Letting out a shaky breath, he took another step.

_Splash._

Terror struck him. He slowly turned around. Numerous bloody footprints followed him, stopping where he stood.

"No..." he muttered hoarsely, pressing a hand to his forehead. His skin felt wet. Cold fear gripped his insides. Withdrawing his hand, he nearly retched when he saw that it was covered in blood. In fact, his entire body was soaked in it.

"Oh God, no," he croaked, backing away.

A sudden movement inside of him nearly threw him off-balance.

"Why?"

The word was faint and choked. The voice seemed to come from within him, entirely against his will.

"Why did you kill me?"

A pair of eyes materialized in his palm. He let out a frightened cry, frozen with dread and unable to tear his eyes away from the grotesque sight before him.

"I never did anything to you..."

A new voice emerged, also sounding weak and childlike.

An arm suddenly shot out of his torso, grabbing him by the throat.

"Why did you kill us?"

More voices spoke, and more arms grabbed him. He felt suffocated, his mind spinning out of control. All of his victims...his poor, helpless victims...

He let out an anguished cry as he sank to his knees, tears flowing down his face. Falling forward, his hands came down to keep him up. The tears ran down the bridge of his nose, dropping onto the ground, leaving bright red splotches on the ground. His lips formed the same words over and over:

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

---

"No…I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'M SORRY!"

His body jerked violently as he came back into reality. His eyes were wide, rolling and maniacal. His stomach heaved, and his insides spilled past his trembling lips. His body lurched forward again and again, piling more and more vomit into his lap. Each retch left him feeling weaker, as if all of the evil that had sustained him all of these years was passing out of his body with each heave of his torso.

Eventually, his stomach had emptied its contents onto the thin blanket covering his legs. Thin ropes of saliva dangled from his lips. He stayed hunched over, staring blankly at the regurgitated pile of filth.

Disgusting.

Despicable.

Hideous.

_Even my vomit has the same characteristics as me,_ he thought to himself vacantly. Leaning back, he wilted back into his pillow, staring at the ceiling once again.

_Why am I still alive? So many other people died because of me...and yet, I still live. Why? I can't...those people...monster...their eyes...begging...screaming as I killed them...no! _

His eyes bulged as his raw throat stung with the frenzied cry that scraped it. His nails frantically scratched the bare skin of his left wrist, desperate to sever the veins that lay beneath the sheath of flesh. His wrist grew red and tender under his fierce ministrations. Blunt scratches eventually surfaced, but only small droplets of blood appeared.

_No..._

Glancing around wildly, he spotted the lamp on the table beside him.

_Perfect._

Grabbing the neck of it, he quickly slammed it down on the table's edge. The crash was near deafening, and he knew that the silver-haired man would come running in a moment, but he was far from caring. Leaning over, his fingers scrambled to find a sizeable piece of the broken porcelain. It flickered in an almost friendly manner in his hand from the dim light of the setting sun. Grasping it tightly in his hand, he positioned it above his already offended wrist.

Visions of his past flashed before his eyes like a silent movie. Voices screamed at him.

"_You're a monster!"_

"_No human has purple eyes!"_

"_You don't belong anywhere!"_

_"Murderer!"_

"_You're not human!"_

His mind snapped.

He slashed the sharp porcelain across his wrist, creating a deep gash. Blood flowed freely and he hacked at the flesh before him, delivering cut after cut to his veins until his eyes became unfocused. He felt dizzy and unbalanced, so he fell back into his pillow, letting the broken piece of porcelain drop from his bloody fingers. Darkness crept into the edges of his eyes, slowly overtaking his vision. Droplets of his crimson life ran down to his fingertips, slowly leaping to the ground. A small smile twitched his lips.

Finally...

...he was dying.

---

After eight years of medical treatment and repeated suicide attempts, Asato Tsuzuki died on May 21, 1926. He was buried three days later.


End file.
